


Eau Chaude

by HenryMercury



Series: Wish Fulfilment [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post Season 3 Episode 6, Vaginal Fingering, ambiguously on the run together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24271435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryMercury/pseuds/HenryMercury
Summary: Villanelle smiles. “You ruined your life for me,” she says. “That’s really romantic.”“No it’s not,” Eve argues—but all the while she’s closing the gap between their mouths.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Wish Fulfilment [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806286
Comments: 14
Kudos: 256





	Eau Chaude

Eve’s clothes aren’t very exciting, but they’re comfortable and they smell good. That’s all Villanelle cares about right now. She empties Eve’s suitcase onto the second hotel bed and flops face first into the small pile of sweaters and pants, inhaling the scent they carry. It’s musk and umami and secret cigarette smoke, half-masked by a subtle soapy fragrance.

Both cheap and priceless, it’s the right perfume for how she feels right now: a strange cocktail of success and failure. A victorious loss, after everything.

Eve hadn’t said a word while she’d scrubbed the leftover blood from Villanelle’s hair, fingers rough and lovely against her scalp as the steaming bathwater went the strawberry-blonde colour of a Chateau d’Esclans Garrus. The bathroom light was yellow and warm, and Villanelle had sobbed quietly at something beyond the relief in her aching muscles or the clean sting of her punctured skin.

She feels better, now, and worse. The hotel shampoo will turn her hair to shit, and she needs her proper eye cream more than ever. Eve said she would pick up some moisturiser from the shop on the corner… and that is what Villanelle’s new life is going to be, it seems. Bathwater the closest she gets to a good bottle of rosé. Tesco her new favourite fashion label.

It really is a brave new world.

“I’m back,” Eve calls out, already coming through the doorway with her shopping bags in hand. “You should really lock the door, considering everyone who wants one or both of us dead.”

Villanelle shrugs. “Most of the people who want to kill me wouldn’t need a key,” she says. “Besides, I would kill them first.”

Eve pauses, a cup of instant noodles halfway between bag and benchtop. She gives Villanelle that patented Eve Polastri expression—searching and knowing, fearful and calm at once.

“I’m sure you would,” she says eventually. Her tone is very even. Villanelle can’t tell what she means by it at all.

“Don’t you think I look good in your clothes?” she changes the subject, repositioning herself on the bed and staring purposefully like she’s Manet’s _Olympia_.

“You look good in everything.” Eve resumes stacking shitty apocalypse food on the square foot of kitchen space the hotel has. She doesn’t look at Villanelle.

Quietly, Villanelle gets off the bed and pads across the carpet until she’s behind Eve. She wraps one arm across Eve’s throat, and snakes the other one across her stomach.

Eve stiffens in surprise. Villanelle holds her still, arms strong like a predator’s jaws around its catch.

“You’re not getting bored with me, are you Eve?” she asks lowly. “You should really know better than that.”

Eve relaxes in her grip. “Are you really fishing for compliments right now?” she says, a disbelieving laugh in her voice.

“What if I am?”

Slowly prying Villanelle’s hands away, Eve turns to face her. They’re standing close. “I am _not_ bored with you,” she tells Villanelle seriously. “I’m a complete _disaster_ because of you.”

Villanelle smiles. “You ruined your life for me,” she says. “That’s really romantic.”

“No it’s not,” Eve argues—but all the while she’s closing the gap between their mouths.

Villanelle takes pleasure in knocking Eve’s shopping off the bench and manhandling her up to sit on it.

“Fuck,” Eve shouts when the back of her head hits the bottom edge of the cupboards mounted on the wall behind her.

“Careful of the cupboard,” Villanelle advises her.

“Oh fuck off.”

Eve leans down to kiss her. It’s an angry kiss. One hand clenches painfully in Villanelle’s freshly washed hair, while the other fists in the front of her jumper. When she pulls away (although not more than a couple of inches) there’s a wildness about her. Black curls flying everywhere. Her stare is laser-focused to the point of burning. Eve’s fixation has always been dark and furious; to Villanelle’s mind, it not only blocks out everything else but begins to actively destroy it. From the very beginning, she’s liked that about Eve.

Eve’s shoes are easy. Her trousers are extremely annoying, but Villanelle manages to drag them off her legs eventually. Underneath them she’s wearing plain black briefs with a slight lace trim around the edges. Villanelle removes these as well, running her hands over Eve’s thighs luxuriantly, relishing the shudder and groan her touch causes.

“Have you even had sex with a woman before?” asks Villanelle. Her fingertips stray closer and closer to the small thatch of pubic hair between Eve’s legs. “Am I going to be your first?” With her thumb, she brushes very lightly over Eve’s clit.

Eve drops her head forward, as if in surrender.

Villanelle mouths at her neck, punctuating her speech with the occasional bite. “I think even if you had, it would _feel_ like the first time. Nobody can fuck you like I can, Eve.”

She lets Eve lean into her shoulder, stroking her nape with her left hand while she slips her right middle finger into Eve’s cunt and sets an unforgiving rhythm. It’s so hot and tight inside her, and Eve’s muscles already flutter gently each time she drives in. It must have been a while. Villanelle is going to make her scream even more loudly than she first anticipated.

Eve takes the second finger even more satisfyingly. She whines as the two digits tease and then enter, each thrust making an obscene wet sound. Curling her palm, Villanelle thumbs Eve’s clit and presses in deep with her fingers.

“Shit,” Eve gasps. She sounds almost ready to cry. Villanelle supposes they’ve both been kept waiting an unusually long time when _all_ of their foreplay is factored in.

The bench isn’t an idea height for what she wants next.

“Get on the bed,” Villanelle instructs Eve urgently.

Eve complies. She’s eager, if unsteady on her feet.

Once she’s sitting, Villanelle grips the hem of Eve’s top and lifts it over her head, until it and both her arms are free. The bra underneath is surprisingly cute—petrol blue and lacy with a deep V neckline. There’s no padding to it, and her nipples are visible through the tiny holes in the fabric. Villanelle thumbs over them roughly before unhooking the double clasp at Eve’s spine and stripping it away, leaving her naked at last.

“You’re very sexy, you know,” she murmurs, climbing onto the bed as Eve scrambles into the centre. “I’m going to make you come with my tongue.”

Moving fast, Villanelle shoves Eve back onto the duvet. With both hands, she holds her hips down and kisses along her inner thigh.

The sound Eve makes at Villanelle’s first lick is the best she’s heard so far. It’s a long moan that she’s obviously trying but failing to swallow. A hard suck at her clit and she bucks, kicking as Villanelle holds her down.

“Stay still, okay?” Villanelle looks up at her, licking her lips.

Eve says nothing, just holds her gaze for a long moment before tilting her head back.

Villanelle is not lazy, whatever stupid people may say about her. She is very good at any task she sets her mind to. It’s talent the way she runs her tongue up and down Eve’s cunt, dipping the tip inside, nuzzling her clit with well-directed enthusiasm. Her hands move from Eve’s hips to her thighs, where she grips hard and feels the tension build.

Further up the bed, Eve makes a sudden move of her own. Villanelle finds her nose pressed against Eve’s pubic bone, filled again with that heady human perfume. As she adjusts her grip Eve’s thighs break free and come up to box Villanelle’s ears, knees bending behind her head and urging her forward. Eve’s fingers are back in her hair, holding her face in place as she grinds up against Villanelle’s open mouth, chin, nose.

 _So demanding,_ Villanelle thinks. It makes her hot all over, knowing exactly how mad she can drive Eve. She fights for air, meanwhile shoving one hand down her own pants to massage firm circles over her clit.

Eve is so close to orgasm now that her body is shaking. She’s ripping the hair from Villanelle’s scalp, but Villanelle couldn’t care any less. Eve could stab her right now like she did last time they lay on a bed together, and Villanelle probably wouldn’t notice until she’d finished coming.

/

“We should go and buy a strap-on tomorrow,” she suggests, patting the new no-brand moisturiser onto her face in the mirror while Eve showers.

“Honestly, the Twelve probably have eyes on the local sex shops looking for us.”

Villanelle’s laughter ricochets off the tiles, rising over the sound of rushing water. “Fine, we order something online. They deliver it in a plain cardboard box—nobody ever knows.”

“Why do you even want one? You definitely don’t _need_ one.”

Villanelle preens.

She squeezes toothpaste onto her brush and sticks it into her mouth, talking around it: “Of course not, but I am very good with one—much better than the real thing. It’s an experience you don’t want to miss, I promise.”

Eve turns the water off and steps out onto the fluffy white hotel towel laid out on the floor. She’s beautiful—again, still, always—with her hair wet down around her face, pink patterns on her skin commemorating the places where Villanelle’s hands were not long ago.

Eve smiles. It’s the type of real, happy smile that only happens when she stops thinking about it all—the Moustache, people who are dead, the trouble they’re in with a lot of very powerful people. Villanelle’s seen this expression before, but only at a distance.

“I’m sure it is,” she tells Villanelle, who feels warmer and bubblier than even the best champagne could ever make her.


End file.
